


No Time for Luxury

by Raicho



Series: Bitch in Heat [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alpha Shane, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom Daryl, Breeding, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Omega Daryl, Rough Sex, Scenting, Scissoring, Top Shane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 10:58:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8664985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raicho/pseuds/Raicho
Summary: He’d been raised in a dominant family—low tolerance for bitches or anyone of the like. He’d learned at an early age what it meant to be an omega and where his lot in life would eventually leave him. He’d concede to the fact that it fucking sucked.But nothing sucked quite like being an omega during an apocalyptic outbreak.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd

            Daryl Dixon wouldn’t consider himself a high-maintenance kind of omega. He roughed it through most of his life, camping in the backwoods of Georgia, using tree leaves for toilet paper and forest critters for the day’s supper. He’d been raised in a dominant family—low tolerance for bitches or anyone of the like. He’d learned at an early age what it meant to be an omega and where his lot in life would eventually leave him. He’d concede to the fact that it fucking sucked.

            But nothing sucked quite like being an omega during an apocalyptic outbreak.

            Before he’d had the luxury of scent suppressants—dainty blue pills with a splash of sugar water that slipped down his throat like melted cotton candy. Those things were magic. He’d been able to walk into town _the day before_ his heat and ain’t nobody would give him so much as a single sniff. That shit disguised his scent up until the last second when his panties were bound to drop and his legs were sure to part like the Red Sea.

            Sure, when it came time for his heat he’d have to scram; hit the hills and make up camp near a cool stream of freshwater and wait out the fever. It was never as bad as a natural heat, though. The fire in his belly burned, but its flame was tame in comparison to biology’s intended trial. He’d managed with just his hand and a bottle of whisky.

            Out in the wilderness he’d have his privacy surrounded by God’s green wonders, weren’t ever an alpha that hiked that far into the mountains. He could fend for himself day in and day out with the only worry on his mind being to make sure he remained hydrated and ate the rations of protein bars Merle had forced him to pack for his week-long excursion. The brute never would admit it, but he’d a soft spot for his baby brother like you wouldn’t believe—always making sure Daryl was kept and safe, even if the exact specifications didn’t meet the true definition of the words. At least he’d tried.

            Merle had tried keeping Daryl safe long after the government sank into a pool of its own shit and piss; long after the pharmacies dried up and the food stocks dropped low. They’d run out of options, so Merle had taken the unruly omega under his wing, protecting Daryl with his strong alpha-scent, and fled to the patches of rural land along the borders of Atlanta. They’d met with a group and made camp at a quarry. It had been a cluster-fuck community of people from all over Georgia that sought refuge, but they’d been a mostly safe crowd of people to surround himself with.

            When Daryl lost Merle, he’d lost his protector—the one thing that was keeping the other alphas at bay from sniffing around his tent since his intake of suppressants had become deficient in time with the virus’ outbreak.

            Now the alphas were shadowing the camp, watching him like a dog watches a peanut butter-covered spoon. Shane’s eyes were hungry as they looked at him milling about in the security of his isolated camp from across the farm. Rick had at least been polite enough to distract himself with supply runs and chores while Daryl’s scent grew heavier with the coming of his heat—with the need for _alpha_.

            He wiped an arm across his mouth before he noticed Shane stalking closer toward him out the corner of his eye. The alpha’s closing proximity made Daryl’s hackles rise.

            “Th’ hell y’ want, Shane?” Daryl growled as he leaned over to grab the handle of his crossbow. He didn’t want to be left unarmed when in the presence of a virile alpha.

            Shane was quiet as he approached the omega; his eyes remained fixed with an air of lust as he examined the other’s defensive posture. Daryl backed away by a few steps, but Shane kept the distance just as close as he continued to crowd into Daryl’s space.

            “You gonna need help wit’ that?” Shane’s voice was a low drawl as his eyes stayed glued on Daryl’s crotch.

            A hot blush flooded Daryl’s face and he growled in warning, “The fuck you say?”

            “I know you’re gonna need help wit’ that. Can smell your heat a mile away. Just thought I’d be the first gentleman to offer you some assistance.”

            Daryl was honestly flabbergasted by the alpha’s bold assumption.

            “An’ why th’ hell you think I’mma need _your help_?”

            Shane leveled the omega with an exasperated look. Daryl gave it back just as good.

            “Ain’t like it used to be, sweetheart,” Shane grinned, “Don’t see your big-alpha-brother waltzing around, throwing his uncivilized racist fists up for your defense no more.”

            Daryl was holding himself back—he wanted to knock the air out of Shane’s bullshit-stuffed lungs and leave him bleeding in the tall grass beneath his boots.

            “No suppressants… No food… No family… No protection,” Shane whistled, “You need me.”

            “Like hell I do.” Daryl hissed.

            “Give it another day or two, you’ll see,” the alpha nodded as his eyes raked up and down the expanse of Daryl’s figure, “You’re gonna feel so trapped in your own meatsuit you’ll be begging me to pound you out ‘til you can’t remember your own name. I’ve seen it happen before. You omegas think you can beat biology. It’s a lie. Your tower’s only a matter of hours away from crumbling down, and there ain’t nothin’ you can do to stop it.”

            Daryl glared.

            “‘Least with me I can guarantee you some safety. I’ll take care of ya. Keep you fed and watered just like my favorite dog back home. Keep you pantin’ for more. Make sure those biters out in the woods don’t get to ya,” Shane took an intruding step into Daryl’s personal space, leaning over his shoulder to sniff at the pre-heat scent that was radiating from Daryl’s exposed neck in furious waves, “Think about it. You’re gonna need someone one way or another. Doesn’t hurt to accept an offer.”

            Daryl gripped his bow and held his tongue as he watched the alpha saunter away like he was the smoothest criminal left in existence. Shane hadn’t turned around to see Daryl spit on the ground where he’d just vacated.

            Daryl had been determined to ride it out, to _just get through it_. It was only a couple of days. He _knew_ he could do it; had _done it_ in the past. He’d kept himself so revved up and intent on beating his heat before he realized his mistake—Shane had been right; he didn’t have the help of suppressants at his disposal for the first time in his life. He didn't have his rations of food and water. He didn't have the luxury of fucking himself silly 'til he passed out in time for a walker to nibble on his bones.

            He’d broken three days into his fever. He came crawling out of his steamed tent, chest bare and eyes glassy as he lay across the dampness of the midnight dew-coated field. His breath was hitched and his mouth was parched, he’d been unable to leave the security of his tent to fetch a drink since his canteen had dried the night before. Daryl was wise enough to know it was a trick. He knew Shane was trying to wait him out; wanted to get him begging on all fours like a wanton whore licking at his feet for release.

            “Your hand not cuttin’ it for you this time, pal?”

            _Shane_.

            Daryl tilted his head to the side to get a view of the man as he strolled over to meet Daryl in the middle of the field between the Dixon’s tent and the RV.

            “Shut up.” Daryl’s words were slurred.

            Shane grinned, his teeth glowed white and bright—pointed—beneath the pale moonlight, “Told you.”

            The omega gave a frustrated sigh as he shut his eyes and rolled his head from side to side. His hand wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. He fucking _needed_ something and he couldn’t get it for himself. Nothing burned as fiercely as the knowledge that Daryl Dixon had to depend on someone else to give him what he needed.

            “Just tell me what you want, Daryl.”

            Daryl growled and shook his head.

            “Ain’t no shame in it.”

            There was a gaping emptiness in the wholeness of his being that he’d never experienced before—and _God_ did he just want it to _disappear_.

            “Jus’ fuckin’ take care of it.” The omega hissed into the quiet of the night. He was gonna get what he wanted, but he wasn’t playing Shane’s sick game.

            Shane scooped him up like some prince in a fairytale—or was it more like the big bad wolf?—and carried him off to the edge of camp where his tent remained untouched by the companionship of others. Daryl was laid on the floor amongst his nest of ruined blankets and taint while Shane hovered above him like a covetous shadow.

            Without wasting any time, the alpha began to strip the remaining clothes off Daryl’s limbs, leaving him naked and exposed.

            Shane licked his lips with unveiled desire, “Damn, are you a pretty little fuck,” his hands roamed against the pale flesh of Daryl’s thighs.

            “Christ, how ‘bout ya just shut up n’ do it.” Daryl rolled his eyes as he spread his legs with open invitation, “Ain’t got all day.”

            “Pushy,” Shane teased as he began unbuckling his jeans and slipping his boxers below his hips.

            Daryl nearly sobbed at the sight of Shane—his cock perfectly erect with its angry red head, veins pulsing with precum sloppily dripping from its tip. It was a fucking dream come true.

            The alpha dipped a finger behind Daryl’s balls, playing with the wet skin before sliding further into the furled warmth of his entrance, “Fuckin soaked,” Shane hummed. His finger swirled around for a few seconds before he added another to the mixture. It wasn’t what Daryl needed, but it was a cool breeze in comparison to the flames he’d been battling just moments before.

            Shane’s fingers slipped free from Daryl once he’d deemed the omega sufficiently stretched. He’d substituted Daryl’s excess slick as lube, rubbing himself from root to tip with slow, patient strokes, spreading the omega’s shame into a thin glaze that covered his member. He moved himself between Daryl’s legs, forcing the omega to open more to accommodate his added bulk.

            Daryl was sweating like a sinner in church as he watched Shane move over top of him. He would be at the alpha’s mercy, and the thought of that made him reel with untampered fury and fear. Just as he felt the beginnings of a blunt heated pressure against his entrance, Daryl squirmed and whined. His hand shot out and he pushed at Shane’s chest to hold the alpha at bay.

            “Don’t let nothin’ happen to me,” Daryl’s voice was frantic with worry but still held an edge of threat, “You don’t let nothin’ get in here.”

            “You have my word on that, Daryl,” Shane winked as he lifted his Glock into Daryl’s line of sight, “T has watch right now.”

            Daryl nodded with evident uncertainty.

            The pressure was there again and Daryl dug his nails into Shane’s shirt as he hissed, “An’ don’ pull none of this possessive alpha shit. S’ a one time thing. Ain’t goin’ around makin’ babies an’ bein’ your wife ‘cause of this.”

            Shane laughed, “Now that would be a sight to see.”

            “Ain’t happenin’.”

            “Yeah, okay,” Shane rolled his eyes but ultimately nodded, “Ya done?”

            Daryl looked scared, but he nodded all the same, “Yeah, fine.”

            Taking in Shane Walsh was like shoving a fucking bottle of ice-cold Coca Cola up his ass. It was so motherfucking refreshing.

            Daryl spread like butter for Shane, the weight of the alpha so smooth and heavy against his hips. He was rocked into slowly but violently, sending shivers up his spine and down his toes. There weren’t any words exchanged between them except for the heated moans and hurried gasps as their bodies joined in rushed mating. What Shane was doing to him was nothing short of animalistic. Primal. Biological.

            Daryl didn’t last long, he’d spilled shortly after Shane rammed into him for the first time, forcing his dark wiry curls to tickle the underside of Daryl’s stuffed entrance. He came as his eyes rolled back and his nails clawed at the alpha’s broad backside; he’d almost whined, but was quickly shushed by Shane.

            “Shh, sweetheart, don’t wannna draw attention to this, right?” Shane reminded the omega as he continued to push in deeper and deeper.

            It felt like hours of being over-sensitized—being released but not relieved—until Shane finally came inside him with a stifled grunt and one last brutal thrust inward. There was a flood of hot come that filled his belly before he felt the strain of the alpha’s knot solidly growing, ready to plug Daryl full of his seed.

            Daryl wanted to run before he was trapped, but at the same time he wanted the soothing sensation that coursed through him with each new pulse. He stilled beneath the alpha. He’d reached respite.

            “Fuck, you are somethin’ to look at like this, y’know that?” Shane hummed as he bent over to lick at the trail of spent come that lingered on Daryl’s stomach, “Might have to do this more often, stuffin' your pussy up like Thanksgivin' dinner.”

            “Can’t you ever shut up?” Daryl huffed, though his voice was strained as he concentrated mostly on keeping himself relaxed to allow the accommodation of Shane’s knot, “N’ this was a’ one-time thing.”

            “Just picturin’ you on your back all full with my pups,” Shane practically purred as he rubbed a hand against Daryl’s swollen belly, feeling the wholeness of his knot and seed.

            “We ain’t breedin’, Walsh.” Daryl snapped.

            “Whatever you say, Dixon.”

            They remained joined for another half hour until Shane’s knot went down enough to slip freely from the omega. Daryl’s heat had subsided and his energy had been drained. The omega rolled over onto his side and tiredly shooed away his unwanted company, “Fun’s over, get out.”

            Shane crawled out of the tent, but remained outside of its entrance for the rest of the night as Daryl’s vigilant guard.

            It wasn’t until the next day after Daryl had taken the morning-after pill Shane had left him with that he’d thought about the alpha again. His mind slipped to the moment where Shane was licking at his stomach and looking into his eyes with the most possessive expression he’d ever seen on an alpha’s face—it made Daryl _want_. He thought about what the alpha had said last night, lying on his back with his belly full. It made his cock throb and his pussy ache. Carrying these days would be risky, almost a certain death sentence, but the thought of Shane being there to hold him and satisfy him every day of it seemed to be the most tantalizing thing to imagine. He’d just been quenched, but _Lord_ did that sound like an appealing idea all of the sudden.

            Daryl shook his head as he mumbled to himself, checking his forehead for a lingering fever with the back of his hand, “Must be th’ heat talkin’…”


End file.
